


Not So Reliably Informed

by BlindBandit44



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Clueless Sherlock, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, sherlock POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-08 02:04:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1922562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlindBandit44/pseuds/BlindBandit44
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on a case with John, Sherlock gets a concussion, bringing his well hidden feelings for John to the surface. Even though this isn't Sherlock's area, he decides to take the chance to peruse John. No matter how hard this new 'case' is, or who he has to ask for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I've never seen the point in sentiment. In endearment, affection, feelings of the heart. Love. I don’t see why people waste such time on an emotion that is so inconvenient. I've never once found the need to “satisfy my sex drive”, as John so calls it. Utterly pointless, that is. I meant what I said, I’m married to my work. Love, or lust, or whatever you want to call it, would only get in the way. Or, at least, that's what I tell myself.

John and I are on a level five case, just enough to get my attention, mostly because cases have been far and few between this month. Currently, we’re hiding out. Waiting for our burglar to reveal himself to us. There has been a number of cat burglaries, all of which have been connected seemingly only by fur color and location. Each cat stolen has been a grey, with white paws, stomach, and nose. Each cat is at least two years old, and well kept after. All have been stolen in approximately the same five mile radius, giving me a general idea of where the man will strike next (obviously a man, this has a romantic attachment. He subconsciously associates grey cats with an ex lover, taking all who live near him so he won’t have to look at them), but not however where he is keeping all the cats, dead or alive.

I’m currently shoulder to shoulder with John, squatting behind a hedge of a woman who owns a grey tabby cat. Geographically, this location fits for the next abduction, and the timing is correct. “Sherlock, I thought you said this would only take a few hours.” John says next to me, sounding only slightly irritated. “We've been behind this bloody bush forever!”

“It’s only been a few hours John. I thought he would be here by now.” Its true, most of the abductions take place between the hours of four and six. Just about the time someone would be off work. A quick glance to my phone tells me it’s just after six, and we've been here since 3:30 this afternoon, and Mittens the grey tabby cat, is still here with us. 

John only sighs, and goes back to keeping a look out. But, suddenly, Mittens, who was sitting calmly next the hedge with John and I, perks up. He lethargically walks out onto the sidewalk, and just sat down, watching the people walk by. 

Eyeballing the cat nervously, I wonder if this is just a coincidence, or a tactic our burglar uses to get the cats. My theory is quickly proven as one man in the not so busy street swiftly picks up the cat, while continuing to walk with the traffic flow the the people.

“Come on!” I say, grabbing John by his coat as we quickly follow our burglar, who in turn notices our presence and ducks into an ally, out of the way.

In hindsight I should have seen this coming, really. But the man had dropped the cat and turned around to face me. Barely giving me a glance before attacking. I’m ashamed to say my reaction was quite slow, and I was on the ground, mostly trying to soften blows, until John came to my rescue.

From the ground, I could see John’s face, set in a death glare, tackling the man and holding him down. I tried getting up to help my friend, but I could suddenly feel every punch my attacker had gotten in. I suspected a sprained left wrist, bruised rib, and I vaguely felt blood coming from my temple. I settled for just lying on the ground, eyes closed. I started feeling rather peaceful, almost forgetting my situation. Until a soft run of fingers through my hair jolted me back to life. Opening my eyes, I see John and smile shyly. My chest felt warm, and I was so unexpectedly happy to see him there. “John.” I said, sounding probably about as bad as I imagined I looked.

“Sh,” John lulled, continuing to run his fingers through my hair, “you’re a bit beat up Sherlock. Lestrade is here, he’s taken care of our man. How about we get you back to Bakerstreet?” 

I nod, slowly lifting myself up to my elbows as John wrapped his arm around me, lifting me up to my feet. Luckily for me John is strong enough to take most of my weight, seeing as I was leaning against him as we walked. I felt weak, and strangely tingly on the side of my body that is touching John. It felt strange, but not in a bad way. I looked down at my blogger, who looked slightly worried, a bit relieved, and content with the adrenalin rush I had given him for the day.

John hails us a cab, and helps me slide in, with him right behind. “We’ll get you home and cleaned up. I think a hot bath will do you some good. Nothing’s broken, so you will mostly just be sore for a few days. You got off pretty easy I’d say.” John smiles at me. For some reason my stomach does a sort of flip-flop. What is that? That’s never happened before. 

“A hot bath sounds lovely.” I reply softly. I’m shaken up. I’m feeling all of a sudden nervous, but I have no reason to be. I sneak a look at John who is looking out the cab window. His face set in his usual thoughtful expression. Face sort of rumpled, not relaxed fully, and eyes looking off at some fixed point, jaw clenched slightly. ‘He looks rather attractive like that.’ My subconscious spews out before I realize what I have just thought. It’s taken me completely off guard, I don’t even know what to do with a thought like that. I decide to just look out my window until we get to 221B, but I can’t get that thought out of my head. John is attractive, why haven’t I noticed this before? I haven’t seen anyone as attractive since I first started my career. 

I resist the urge to look at John the rest of the ride home. But it was inevitable upon our return. I do my best to keep the glances casual. John pays the cabbie goes up the stairs to our flat first, and I follow closely behind. “Sherlock, I’m going to grab the first aid kit. I’ll meet you in the bathroom alright?”

“Alright.” I take off my coat and shoes before going into the bathroom and sitting on the counter top. John comes in a minute later with our pretty well used first aid kit.

“Ok, you've got a blow to the head and what looks to be a possible sprained wrist, any other injuries I should know about?” John asks me, setting up his things beside me.

“Possible fractured rib. Should I remove my shirt?”

“Yeah, better check that out.”

I unbutton my shirt best I can with my one hand while john inspects the other, quickly deeming it best to just wrap it and allow it to heal. “Don’t let that get too wet in the bath.” John points out.

“Yes John, I know how to take care of wrapped wrists.” I roll my eyes, but John just ignores me and moves to the gash on my temple right as my shirt falls. John’s gentle fingers running through my hair, moving my curls out of the way. Thoroughly cleaning and sanitizing.

“Hm, not nearly as bad as it looked. Just bled a lot.” He mumbles to himself as he bandages the cut, then allows the stray curls to fall back into place. When John turns slightly and smiles, my heart starts to race. I’m shocked, I don’t even smile back. Why is my body all of a sudden betraying me like this? “Why are you looking at me like that?” John asks, his face scrunching up, and his hair tousled about. My heart flutters to life again.

“Your hair looks soft.” I reply, then immediately wish I could take it back. “Th-that’s not what I meant to say.” I could feel my cheeks start to redden as John eyeballed me, looking back to the wound on my head. 

“Maybe I ought to check for a concussion? You have been acting strange since getting a pounding.” John says, grabbing a small flashlight and shining it in my eyes. “Here, follow the light best you can.” I follow fairly well I think, but the light quickly starts to irritate my eyes. “Sherlock, you’re wincing, does the light hurt?” John asks me softly, looking worried once again.

“A little, yeah.” I respond truthfully, not wanting John to threaten to take me to an actual doctors office.

John continues, running a few more tests on my hearing, balance, and reflexes. “Well, you definitely have a mild concussion. But it shouldn't last any longer than a week. Sit back up on the counter so I can have a look at that bruised rib.”

I do as I’m told. But all too fast John is running his fingers over my ribs, leaving goosebumps in their path, and making my heart race once again. John catches my sudden change in heart rate, but only looks at me for a half a second before most likely deciding it’s the concussion. 

“Your rib is bruised, but not seriously. That will just have to heal on its own. Shouldn't take too long. I’ll start your bath.” John informs me, bending over the tub, messing with the temperature trying to get it just right. ‘Look at that arse’ my subconscious tells me out of nowhere, surprising me once again. I can feel myself blushing again, wondering why in the world my transport has all of a sudden decided that it controls itself. I look at John, who is still bending over the tub, thinking that my brain is right of course, his arse is rather nice to look at. Or is that my concussion speaking? John did say that I had one, will this just blow over? 

“There, that should be go-” John says, turning around to find me intently looking at him. I immediately blush for the third time, thinking for a split second that John knows what I've been thinking about him, but then remember he’s an idiot and couldn't deduce my thoughts even if I was hinting at them.

“My bath is ready?” I ask, startling John out of his frozen state.

“Uh, yeah. I’ll just,” and before John even finishes his thought I strip down my trousers and pants, waltz past an extremely red and surprised flatmate, and settle myself into the tub.

“Thank you John, I don’t think I’ll need anything else. But if you’re worried about my state of well being, you are free to leave the door open.” I sigh, letting the water surround me, feeling the warmth engulf my sore muscles and aching bones.

“Bloody, Sherlock! You can’t! Ah, hell. Whatever. I’ll shut the door, but yell if you need anything.” And with that John is out of the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I immediately retreat to my mind palace, searching all I know on John. Seeing if anywhere I have hidden away feelings beyond friendship for him. I have files dedicated to John's favorite jumpers, which at first didn't seem out of the ordinary, except for the fact that I had a list of my favorite jumpers John wears in said file. Quickly moving on, I go to favorite foods and drinks, including beans and toast, various jams, and lots of tea’s. And again, I found it rather normal, up until the list of foods and teas that make John’s breath smell sweet, inviting, bad, or not really like anything. I move on to John’s favorite pass times, John’s favorite words, John’s favorite music, John’s favorite television shows and movies. And in every single fact I have about John, I find a specialized list of what my favorite thing about John’s favorite things are. I try telling myself its not as bad as it seems, but when I suddenly find a folder tucked away in my mind palace on the reason’s I love having John in my life I shake to life, opening my eyes, back in the tub at 221B.

I can feel my body flushing, breathing heavy, and my heart racing. What was that about? How do I have a folder on loving John, when I never consciously realized what feelings I have? Am I afraid to love? Or did I at some point notice, but decide the feelings were a distraction and pushed them away? Are they a distraction now? Should I push the realization away again, forgetting this? 

But I don’t have time to think, I hear a solid knock on the door, and John’s unwavering voice, “Sherlock, you’ve been in the tub for over an hour, and I just ordered take away. Are you going to eat with me?”

”Yes, I’ll be there in a moment.”

I slowly stand up, water still in tub, letting little droplets of water run off me and back into my now cold bath. I pull the plug, and hop out, wrap a towel loosely around my torso and head off into my bedroom. Grabbing my pajamas and favorite dressing gown, I decide to keep these new feelings of John. They seem to leave a warm spot in my stomach, a feeling I don’t ever remember having. 

I towel dry my hair before stepping out and into the living room. I find John with containers of Chinese take away and watching telly. I take my spot next to John on the couch, grabbing some chow mien noodles and green bean chicken breast. I love (Love? Where did that come from?) watching John’s expressions while watching telly. I usually don’t enjoy the actual show, but John is gorgeous while watching it. He’s an open book, his emotions clear. I find it a great pass time to deduce John’s immediate thoughts and feelings. “So. Lestrade texted me. Say’s our burglar confessed.” John says, taking a bite of fried rice.

“Hm. That’s good for Lestrade I presume. Less work proving his criminal activity.”

“You were right. His wife passed away four months ago, she obsessed over her gray cat. It drove the man insane, reminded him of her every time he saw one. Finally he just decided to steal all of them. Kept them in a storage unit, actually. Didn't have the heart to kill them. So all the owners get their cats back.” John informs me. A rather adorable smile playing across his lips at the happy ending.

“Ah, sentiment. Seems decent for the people who lost their cats, I suppose.” I reply, finishing my chow mien. 

“Yes, I suppose so.” John says, looking thoughtful. 

The rest of the night is pretty boring. John spends his time watching Doctor Who reruns, while I watch John. We’re mostly quiet, taking breaks only to talk about the show during commercials. I decide somewhere between nine and ten that night that I really do love John, and even though these feelings aren't my area, I’d like to keep them on the surface. By 10:30 John tells me he’s off to bed, it’s been a long day. I decide to turn of the television, and retreat to my room as well. If anything, I should try to sleep at some point for the sake of my concussion. 

Once in bed and under the covers, I allow my mind to think of my new feelings towards John. How inexperienced I really am. How John claims to be ‘not gay’. How I feel about this. Is it worth it? pursuing John? 

Of course it is. John is amazing. He’s my blogger, I’d be lost without him. It will be my most difficult case yet. But if anyone is capable of pursuing John, it shall be me. I know I can do it.


	2. Chapter 2

“Morning Sherlock.” John say’s sleepily, walking into the living room after just using the loo. He still has a tired look in his eyes, and soft features. Still just waking up. I wonder momentarily if I’m aloud to deduce John as I always do now that I have some sort of feelings for him. Would John mind? Does he mind now? “Tea?” John asks, taking my mind off the endless babble momentarily.

“Tea, yes.” I answer, watching John lazily walk into the kitchen. He’s dressed for work, and will most likely be at the surgery until dinner tonight. That gives me time to research way’s to make my love known to John without scaring him off. Of course, John is one of the bravest people I know, I doubt I would scare him off that easy. But, then again, he does like to vocalize he isn’t gay. Would I somehow taint his masculinity? 

“Here you are.” John says, walking out of the kitchen, and placing my mug of tea on the coffee table near me.

I make an attempt at a noise of gratitude, and continue thinking over my current dilemma. I sneak a peek over at John, grabbing my tea, who is quietly sipping his tea in his chair, and reading over the morning newspaper Mrs. Hudson brought up earlier this morning. I decide that John has his emotions more in control than that. I highly doubt he would feel offended or attacked by me making advances towards him. It would take some convincing, but he is a man of many wonders and surprises. I’m confident he wouldn’t be scared off by the fact I’m suddenly looking at our friendship romantically. Or, at least if I do this correctly.

“Well, I’m off Sherlock. I’ll be home for dinner. Should I pick up some take away on my way home?” John asks me, putting his mug in the sink, and then putting on his shoes and jacket.

“Yes, sure. Whatever you want.” I respond, not even bothering to look over at him, still deep in thought. I listen to each step John makes down the stairs, hearing him open and shut the front door. I stay in position for the next seven minutes, the amount of time it takes John to walk to the tube, only moving to finish my tea, then spring into action. I confiscate John’s laptop, using his most recent attempt at a password that will keep me out: JohnHamishWatson981971, which he hasn’t changed in over a month now. I’ll keep in mind he will probably be changing it again soon. 

Not really knowing I decide to just go to Google, and start general. I type in “how to make your best friend fall in love with you” and click the first option, bringing me to a WikiHow page containing seven steps on “How to Make a Friend Fall in Love With You”. Seems promising, other than the fact that it’s for a male pursuing a female. But I just mentally replace every ‘she’ and ‘her’ with ‘John’, making my job a little easier. 

Step one: Attempt to become their best friend. Well, that's done. Good, I’m already on the right track. According to this step I must first “establish a connection like no other, something that neither of you could live without”. Again, done. How could anyone describe what John and I have as something other than ‘like no other’? Its clearly unique. But I stumble a bit on the next part: “Open up. Tell her [John] about yourself” and “Make the person feel special”. So, according to this, even though clearly half of step one says John and I are best friends, the other half says I’m not quite there. I need to open up to John, as well as make sure he feels ‘special’. Whatever that is supposed to mean. 

I skip onto step two, which is all about hinting. Telling me, “In the beginning, stick to flirting with your body”. I’m sure I can easily combine my ‘hinting’ and ‘making John feel special’, and even do it all tonight! I quickly read the rest of the How-To, storing it away in my mind palace for future reference, and start next on planning out the rest of the night. 

I hop off the couch and hustle into my bedroom, grabbing a white button up shirt with suit jacket and black trousers.

Walking back out to the kitchen and checking the fridge and cupboards for what we had to eat, and finding close to nothing. I guess that would be the reason John offered to pick up take away for the second night in a row. I quickly send a text to John,

‘Change in plans, I’m making dinner tonight. Need anything from the market while I’m out? SH’

‘You’re making dinner? For both of us? How hard did that guy hit you yesterday? JW’

‘Do we have milk? Milk would be good. JW’

‘Milk, ok. See you tonight. SH’

I stick my phone into my pocket, knowing John wont reply. He’s working and he usually doesn’t like texting more than once while at work. I grab my coat and shoes, making a mental list of items to buy while out.

On the way to the market, I keep in mind my How-To “The trick is to make it not look like a date when you ask her [John], but feel like a date when she [John] gets there” (found on step four). Well, my texting John wouldn't sound out of the blue to him other than the fact that I am making dinner, which he is for some reason connecting to my head injury. But that aside, to create a date atmosphere I figure we will need fine wine, John’s favorite dinner (beans and toast, simple enough), and a movie after. One John would like. And during the movie, I can insist we sit together on the couch so I may “flirt with my body” and even attempt to “sit shoulder-to-shoulder with her [John]”. 

Once at the market I purchase the wine, beans (grabbing extra, knowing John will want more later any way), bread for toast, milk, and head to the movie section. Most seem tediously boring, immensely dull, or just outright bad. I decide to just pick a James Bond movie I remember John mentioning he liked last month and calling it good. 

I purchase my items then head back to the flat. I figure if me cooking dinner and getting a movie isn’t enough to surprise John, then I’ll clean the kitchen as a sort of back up. John is always going on about how I need to pick up after myself when I do my experiments. So this should be good.

Once back in 221B I glance at the clock, showing it’s now 3:30. Cleaning shouldn’t take longer than an hour, cooking should be quick, beans and toast are easy, but maybe I should shower between here and there? I plan on sitting next to John, and smell is a source of attraction when looking for lovers. I decide it’s a good idea and set to work cleaning the kitchen.

I finish in just under an hour, and it looks pretty good. All experiments are taken care of, dishes are done and put away, no body parts in the fridge (well, except for the big toes I have tucked away and in a baggie. I have a few idea’s for experiments I can start with those soon), and I even took the time to mop and sweep and wash off the counter tops. John will be surprised definitely.

I head to the bathroom for a quick shower. Stripping down and taking off the bandage on my temple and the wrap on my wrist John gave me last night. I’ll have to ask him to redo it later. I hop into the shower, letting the hot water settle nicely over my sore muscles. I gently wash my hair and body with my good hand, not wanting my bad wrist to get worse (one because I do actually need it, and two John would be mad if I didn’t take care of it). I get out of the shower and shave, leaving no stubble, then head to my room. Once there I pick out my favorite purple shirt (the one that John has been shown to keep longer eye contact with me 60% of the time) and my best black trousers. I find my best cologne, putting a preferable amount on. 

Once I deem myself decent enough for a date with John, I head out to the kitchen to prepare dinner, beans and toast. A glance at the clock tell’s me its 5:30. John is usually home just before six. That leaves me just enough time to make dinner so I get to work.

I was just starting to put beans and toast on two plates when I hear the front door open. And for some reason I’m suddenly nervous. What if John doesn’t want beans and toast? What if he really wanted takeaway. Did I clean the kitchen well enough? Is James Bond even a good movie? My hair is still slightly damp, will John think my hair doesn’t look as good this way? Does John think I even look attractive? John is certainly attractive. 

“Sherlock. Did-did you clean the kitchen?” John says, startling me out of my stream of endless insecurities.

“Yes John. I thought you would find it a nice surprise. Are you surprised?” I ask, searching John’s expression, knowing the answer right away.

“Yeah, looks great actually! You should clean more often.” I take it as a compliment. “So?” John asks, looking around, slightly confused. 

“I’ve made beans and toast. Is that alright?” I gesture to my attempt at a decent dinner. “I’ve also gotten James Bond, you told me you like him.” 

“Sherlock I swear to god if you left another decaying body part under my bed and forgot about it I’m going to kill you.” John says, his face scrunching up in that adorable way it always does when he’s mad 

“Nothings wrong John.” I inform him, hesitating slightly. “I just thought maybe after a long day at work you would like a nice night at home. Is it too much?” I ask, feeling suddenly self conscience.

“No, no. It’s just. Unexpected? I mean when do you ever do things like this?” John asks, smiling over at me. “We should eat and set that movie up before the food gets cold.” “You’re right. Lets do that.”John and I get our plates together, we even brushed arms while grabbing toast. I stored away the tingly feeling that shot up my arm in my mind palace. Then we retreated into the living room and started the James Bond movie, and John sat next to me on the couch without me even bring it up. Things were going smoothly. But I have no recent data to tell me whether this has a sort of date atmosphere or not. 

John and I finish our plate fulls around the same time, and even hurried through half the bottle of wine. I decide it’s now or never to make my move. I shift toward John ever so slightly. Still keeping it casual, but trying to close the eight inch distance between us. I glance at John’s face. He didn’t register my movement, but I can tell by his facial features this is a stressful part of the movie. John’s emotions are like an open book, it’s lovely really. I smile, thinking how utterly beautiful the look of love must be on John’s face, in his eyes. I don’t realize, but I get sort of lost in thought, in my small fantasy. And John notices. “Sherlock, why are you looking at me like that? Are you still acting strange because of your concussion?” John takes a second to brush my curls out of the way, sending my stomach into flip-flop. I suppress the urge to moan, knowing that it would give John the wrong message to early. Instead I close my eyes and let John run his heavenly fingers through my hair and examine the gash on my temple. 

“I, also need my wrist re-wrapped tonight as well. But both can wait until after the movie.” I tell John, opening my eyes and looking into his. I try ‘hinting with my eyes’, or something. I figure John running his fingers through my hair beats shoulder-to-shoulder sitting anyways. It feels nicer too. 

John smiles slightly “Alright. I hope you haven’t been too hard on yourself today. You are injured you know.” And with that we go back to watching our movie. And in the process, John has moved three and a half inches closer to me, making the distance between us now four inches, thanks to both our moving.

I take the chance to relax back into the couch. Semi-sprawling out. John must have caught the hint and followed suit, however, still staying that four inches away. not even our knees were touching. How can I change that without scaring him off. Maybe its to much for tonight? I had already set up a surprise date, without even calling it a date. Maybe I’ll leave knee and shoulder touches for tomorrow? How fast was this process supposed to be? 

I decide that with John being so knowingly heterosexual, its best to leave it to just the date tonight. I suffer through the rest of the movie, which is really just me watching John’s facial expressions out of the corner of my eye.

At the end John seems happy. “Thanks for this Sherlock. I don’t really know why you did it, but after the day I had, it was really nice.”

“Well, you are my friend, and I do care about your happiness. I’m just not as vocal about it as most people are, as you know.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know Sherlock. Now lets take care of that head and wrist of yours.”

In the kitchen, John took care of my injuries once again. Running his fingers over my temple, gently wrapping my wrist, and even checking my bruised rib. I was completely satisfied with the amount of touching taking place tonight, so take that “shoulder-to-shoulder” How-To.

After taking care of me, John said he was off to bed early tonight. Claiming that even though the evening was rather relaxing, his day was still long and he just wanted to read a chapter or two of his book and get some sleep. 

I went to my room, changing into my sleepwear, but came back out to the living room, retiring to the couch. I slept well last night, and I doubt my body will succumb to sleep until at least three in the morning. So, until then. I shall set a plan for John, making him mine as soon as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the second chapter! More to come soon!
> 
> fun factoid: in the password I made for John, the number in JohnHamishWatson981971 is Martin Freeman's birthday. It's September 8, 1971 (9/8/1971, I know other places don't do month day year, but that's we Americans do it, so sorry if it's wrong).
> 
> Also, I totally did Google "how to make your best friend fall in love with you" and pretended to research as if I were Sherlock. Here's the site I used: http://www.wikihow.com/Make-a-Friend-Fall-in-Love-with-You


	3. Chapter 3

I’m completely lost. I’m heart broken as well, if I’m completely honest with myself. I don’t know where I’m going wrong! I’ve done what that site has told me, why isn’t John mine yet? It’s been a week since the case that injured me, my concussion is gone, and yet I still feel the need to have my feelings shown to John. Why is that? Scratch that, I know why, it’s all his fault. John, with his adorable jumpers, his addiction to adrenaline, his love of ordinary, plebeian things. The list really can go on, but why do I even have this list? It’s been stuck in my head, showing itself to me every chance it gets. And, for whatever reason, I’m apparently not the romantic or relationship type! I really did feel like that date last week went well, but every other attempt has gone down the drain! 

Wednesday I took John on a daring “cat and mouse” sort of chase through London. The case was only a level four, one I would never want to go on, but my How-To step six had said, “doing something exciting, daring, or adventurous together helps release a chemical (called norepinephrine) in her [John’s] body and yours that is associated with romantic feelings”. The man had even pulled out a gun, not that he would have used it, he was too dull for such an action. I monitored John and noted that his heart rate elevated during our chase, he was excited during the gun down, and was smiling when we got the criminal to Lestrade. But, when we got back John told me he just wanted to take a shower and head to bed, didn’t even blink an eye when I asked if he wanted to play cluedo with me. So that was a failed attempt.

Thursday I followed step three “be a shoulder to lean on”. John had had a particularly difficult day at work. I knew right away by the way he had walked up the stairs. I hadn’t made a surprise dinner. I didn’t think I would have to do that twice. Repetition is rather boring. But I knew this would be the perfect time to try this particular step out. John and I sat across from one another in our claimed chairs. I had asked John how his day went. I did actually listen about 75% of the time, giving feedback when necessary. It went rather well, and John even thanked me, telling me that it was unusual behavior for me, but appreciated the change in behavior just this once. But after that we never spoke of it again. 

And then, yesterday, John came home from the grocers and was unusually happy for some reason. Something happened obviously. But I was completely unprepared for this one. John had come into the kitchen, I was working on my toe experiment, and started cheerily putting away the food he had picked up. He didn’t even mention the fact that I had body parts on the kitchen table. Before I had the chance to properly deduce what John was so happy about, he informed me that he had a date tomorrow (which is now today) and asked me not to ruin his love life once again with, my extraordinary life (well, alright. He didn’t use the word extraordinary, but it was definitely implied). I was completely stunned. All this time I had been trying to pursue John I didn’t even bother to think about the fact that he could continue to date other women. I was so mad, I wrapped up my experiment, then continued to sulk (not usually my choice of words, but I admit I was acting rather childish about the whole thing) around the house the rest of the night. John took it as me being in “one of my moods”, as he likes to call it. 

And that brings us to today. I was up early this morning. Still rather upset over last night, and definitely didn’t have the will to face John. Currently I’m sprawled out on the couch, taking up my trademark thinking pose. Currently I have step five of my How-To running through my head. But the stupid thing hasn’t worked so far, and I doubted this step from the beginning. So why should I try it now? “Backing off is important because it lets her [John] know what she's [John’s] missing”. Have I spent too much time with John? Is that even possible? If I love him, shouldn’t I spend more time with him? It seems backwards if you ask me. And, what if John decides that when I’m gone, he doesn’t likes what he’s missing? I know I’m a terrible person, so why let John see that through me being gone? 

I hear John sleepily walk down the stairs and into the living room. I’m still mad at him for getting a date so I keep my eyes closed, pretending I’m deep in thought and not thinking about him.

“Sherlock, are you in your mind palace? Would you like some tea?” John asks softly, trying not to disturb me if I am in my mind palace.

I make an affirmative sound, keeping my eyes closed until I hear John start to walk away. Opening my eyes and seeing John from the back, he is just as beautiful. His hair is slightly messy from sleep, his pajamas are rumpled, his steps are lazy, and he looks quite relaxed. And from my position, with my head lying down on the armrest of the couch closest to the window, I can watch John perfectly while he is in the kitchen making tea. However, I’m sure to close my eyes once again before John finishes, that way he won't suspect a thing. 

“Still in one of your moods I see. That last case was pretty boring compared to most, actually. But maybe Lestrade will call with another.” John tell’s me, setting my tea next to me on the coffee table. 

“I’m not in ‘one of my moods’ John.” I spit back. Opening my eyes and looking at John’s face. His features scrunch up, showing his irritation with me. I roll my eyes and mumble to myself, “Not that you could see the difference.” As I dramatically, stretch my long limbs out and avoid John’s eye contact.

“Well, whatever you call it, it’s bloody annoying.”John huffs, grabbing his tea and walking over to the other side of the couch. “Lift your feet.” Which I do, letting John sit down next to me. He must have assumed I would sit up, because when I flop my feet back down on his lap, John jumps in surprise.

“Sherlock!”

“Hm, yes John?” I reply, wiggling my toes as an emphasis. Knowing it may worsen the situation. I’m not one to have a high maturity level as it is, let alone when I’m pissed.

“That’s- you can’t- why?” John babbles, just glaring angrily back and forth between my feet and face. “Why do I even bother with you sometimes?” 

“I don’t know John. If I’m so bloody awful why don’t you just go live with you new girlfriend?” I spit back, instantly regretting the words once they leave my mouth. Why am I so worked up? John didn’t do anything to deserve that.

“Sher-” 

“No, John, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I-I’ll just go to my room for a bit. Need to calm down.” I say, jumping up and retreating. But not before catching the look of complete sadness in John’s eyes. I didn’t mean to spring that on him like that. John deserves the very best, and me being in a mood like this is not helping either of us.

I’m just past the couch when John gently grabs my wrist, standing behind me. “Sherlock, you know I love living here. I’m not leaving you for some girl I found at the supermarket.”

I turn around and see the sincerity in John’s eye, a small simile tugging at his lips. “I know.” I reply, almost a whisper. I’m not even sure John heard it, but I quickly turn back around and head to my room, not wanting to make this situation even worse.

once behind the safety of my closed door, I dramatically flop on my bed, groaning loudly. When did my life become such an emotional wreck? And why the hell do I insist on sentimentality between John and me? I’m just so confused, and this really isn’t my area. How do I fix this?

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, so for the next seven hours I just mope about my room. I reorganized my sock index, made my bed, ruined my bed again, then remade it, tidied up a bit, then laid on my bed and stared up at the ceiling. I finally decided I was cooled down enough and really needed to eat something or my transport was going to betray me.

But low and behold, I definitely chose the wrong bloody time to leave my room. I had just made it into the kitchen when John came down from his room, and of course I felt the need to turn and greet him. He was dressed in new jeans that hugged his rear perfectly, and his favorite beige colored jumper. I could smell his cologne, it was strong, but not offending. He had probably accounted for some wearing off before meeting his date. He smelled clean and masculine, and very very attractive. Its true that we are often more attracted to how a person smells then to how they look. But in this very moment John had all the right things going for him. He was utterly perfect. My reaction must have been frightening, John stopped suddenly in the middle of the kitchen to give me an odd look. I imagine I was staring, but how could I not? John was gorgeous! 

“I-is something wrong? Do I have on too much cologne?” John asks me, suddenly looking very self conscious.

“I’m going out.” I practically grunt in John’s direction, whipping past him and grabbing my coat and shoes. I know I told myself that leaving John alone sounded like an idiotic idea, but staying here and torturing myself didn’t sound all that appealing either. I’m sure I could find something to do at Bart’s, Molly should be in at this hour, I think, reminding myself of Molly’s work schedule. 

“Oh, ok then. Uhm, don’t get into to much trouble. Have fun doing whatever.” John call’s after me as I brush past him once again to leave the flat, not even bothering with a good bye. 

I walk a few blocks in the cold, crisp air. Trying to gain some sense of control over my downward spiral of emotions. 

I was just about to hail a cab when one of my brothers annoying black cars stopped beside me. A serious looking man in an overly expensive suit came and opened the door. “Please come with us Mr. Holmes, your brother is expecting you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a bit longer to post this chapter then I had originally thought it would. I had many things to work out. Let me know what you think so far! I love feed back! New chapters soon!


	4. Chapter 4

“Evening brother dear.” I’m chaperoned into my brothers home, finding him in the living room sipping his tea and eating a blueberry scone. The fire is just started burning, and all is peaceful. Hard to believe I’ve just been kidnapped

“I would ask about the diet, but you’re already on your third scone. Obviously it is not well.” I reply, adding a touch of acidity to my tone and keep my face void of any sort of amusement or emotion.

“That’s not why I brought you here Sherlock.” Mycroft tells me, finishing the last bite of his scone and standing up to show some sort of proper greeting, That is if Mycroft and I could ever show any sort of proper mannerism towards each other.

“No, and that’s what I’m trying to figure out. Why kidnap me when its obviously more convenient for you to barge into my flat unannounced and unwelcomed and force me to talk with you.” 

“I’ve brought you here to talk about John.” My brother reply's in complete seriousness. My heart just about stops, but I try my best to appear completely composed and confident. I don’t need my brother butting into my business or attempting to help my love life (or lack there of). “I’ve been monitoring your flat, as I’m sure you are well aware. Seems to me you have a bit of a problem.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about Mycroft.” I answer, looking away and keeping a plastered look of boredom on my face. 

“My younger brother has gotten quite a crush on the little army doctor. Not that I blame you, he is rather immaculate, wouldn’t you say?”

“Caring is not an advantage Mycroft.” I spit his own words back at him, letting him know he has been heard my whole life. “Why would I notice, or better yet, why would you notice whether or not a flatmate of mine was ‘immaculate’ or not?”

“Sherlock, I can see your feelings plain as day. It’s doctor Watson you’re giving too much credit to. He needs a bit of a nudge. You were on the right track during dinner, but seemed to back pedal quickly after. You obviously took your online How-To guide to much to heart.” Mycroft answers calmly. Attempting to keep eye contact while I pace around the room avoiding his.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I repeat hesitantly, knowing he can sense my lie before it even leaves my tongue.

“Really, Sherlock? Are we going to play this? Shall I deduce all the signs of love you have so obviously shown this week?”

I let out a ragged sigh, knowing my brother has me beaten. “Ok, fine Mycroft. You’re right. Sentiment has gotten the better of me this time. I-I don’t know how to control it.” I also don’t particularly feel keen towards getting rid of the feelings either, but that information I will keep to myself.

“You don’t need to control it. You need to learn how to show it.” Mycroft answers matter-of-factly. “What exactly is it that you want from John?”

“Nothing that concerns you.” I spit in my brothers direction. “Why do you even care?”

“Because, Sherlock, I worry about you. And, unlike me, companionship may very well suit you if that action were to be played out with John.” I can’t even believe what Mycroft was proposing. He has never once given sentiment a second glance. He has always told me never to care, to have no feelings. 

“And how are you supposed to help? You’ve never been one for romance or companionship. Why should I listen to any advice you have?”

“I have no romantic advice for you. I simply wish to inform you that seeing as you are headed to see Molly Hooper, she may be of some use to you in terms of advice. She certainly has experience and has on numerous occasions shown to be enthusiastic about helping you.” Mycroft says, sitting back down in his designer chair, looking into the fire and indicating he has said what he wanted and is done with me now.

I scoff, mostly to myself, as I leave the room, once again being escorted to one of my brothers many black, shiny cars. Once in the car and safely away from my brothers prying gaze I think about what he had said. Ask Molly for advice? I hadn’t thought about using any other resources after finding my How-To guide. However, I suppose I should have given the fact that it obviously wasn’t working for me after that first night. I think to myself that it is worth a shot, if anything I can broadly bring up my problem and maybe get a general answer from Molly that could help.

As the car pulls up to Bart's I silently curse my brother for giving some decent advice, then walk out of the car, not even bothering to give the driver a thank you. 

I walk into Bart’s and head straight to the lab Molly works in. I find her right away, going over some paper work, how boring. I stride, calling out so I don’t frighten her, “Molly, are you busy at the moment?”

“Oh! Sherlock! That’s you!” Molly says, turning towards me and giggling slightly. “I’m not too busy no. Need me to fetch you some parts? Lets see, right now I have some fingers, all sorts, a liver, but its pretty badly damaged, um,”

“No, I, uh, I mean I would like some. But in a moment. I actually wanted to ask you some. Advice?” I ask, sounding more flustered than I had intended. I took the opportunity to take the seat next to Molly, sitting down awkwardly, not really knowing what I should be doing.

“Oh, did you finish one of your experiments? Is it written up, I can check your website-”

“No. It’s, um, well it’s a personal topic, actually.” I interrupt quietly, feeling a slight blush come across my cheeks. “This isn’t my area, and I don’t know that it’s actually yours either. I was just hoping you could help the situation I’m in. Is that too much? Am I asking too much? Why don’t we just forget this, I’ll just go look at some body parts, that's-”

“Sherlock!” Molly interrupts my endless babble. Bringing me back to my question, even if I’m nervous. “Of course I can give you advice. What is it you wanted to talk about?”

“John.” I answer quickly, sitting up a little straighter, and avoiding eye contact. I find myself sort of doing this on auto pilot, wanting to remain emotionless, even though my answer clearly shows human error.

“John? What about John?” Molly asks softly, but I can hear the knowing in her voice. Can she see my feelings so easily?

“I-I’m in a compromising position. I don’t know what to do. I was hoping for some advice.” I answer quickly, looking down at what Molly has scattered around the table.

“Sherlock, do you. Do you love John?” Molly stutters, but subconsciously scoots a centimeter closer to me, and face’s me more directly.

I open my mouth to answer. To tell Molly the truth, to tell the world, to tell anybody. To finally let my feelings become more than just a private fantasy. But my mind won’t cooperate with my mouth. No words come out and I end up staring at Molly with a blank look.

“Sherlock?” Molly asks softly, reaching for my hand as a sort of sentimental gesture. “You don’t have to answer, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Yes.” I answer, taking my hand away from Molly’s touch.

“What?”

“Yes, I am in love with John.” There, I have let it out. It is no longer a secret. That was more difficult than I had anticipated, but I feel a sort of light feeling in the pit of my stomach, excitement I’m not used to running through my veins. 

“Alright.” Molly smiles up at me, helping me relax a bit. Knowing she will keep my feelings safe. “What sort of advice were you looking for?”

“Well. The past week I’ve been attempting to. Pursue John. Romantically. But I seem to have come up short. My attempts haven’t gotten me anywhere. What have I done wrong?”

“Well, what have you done in terms of pursuing John?” Molly asks, keeping her tone neutral.

I take a breath, knowing this is the hardest thing I have ever done. I’m Sherlock Holmes, I don’t talk about my feelings, or even have them most of the time. But in the past couple of days, I’ve learned that that isn’t quite true. Moriarty was right that day at the pool. I told him I was reliably informed that I didn’t have a heart. I’ve grown up with people telling me I’m heartless. But he saw past that. He could see my heart, where it belonged, who it belonged to. I didn’t see it at the time, but he definitely did. 

I face Molly, looking into her eyes. She patiently waits for my response. Knowing that I’m taking my time to gather what it is I need to say. And, in my own time, I tell her how my week has gone, what I have done, how I attempted to make John love me. I tell her every detail, and she listens intently. Nodding when appropriate, never interrupting. And at the end of my confessions, she smiles and thinks about what I have told her.

“Well. I don’t live with you and John. Obviously. But, I don’t know, it all seems a bit. Mundane, don’t you think? You’re Sherlock, you’re eccentric and daring, quick and resourceful, charming and brilliant. Everything you’ve done is what us ordinary people do to get dates. I’ve always assumed that you would be a bit more spectacular, or over the top. That’s how you do everything else.” Molly answers thoughtfully. Choosing her words carefully.

“John is spectacular, don’t get me wrong. But by definition, John is ordinary, and dating is rather ordinary. Shouldn’t my tactics for dating be ordinary as well?” I ask, keeping my thoughts organized and logical.

“Well, yes. But you’re not ordinary Sherlock. I already know that John loves you. He may not see it as romantic at the moment. But it is there. And to bring those feelings to the surface, Sherlock, you have to be yourself. Take dating to the next level.”

“Take dating to the next level. What is that even supposed to mean?” I ask, a little more angrily than I had intended. This is all so new, and feelings are so hard to deal with. How do people do this everyday?

“Uhm, well. What is John up to tonight?” Molly asks, suddenly reminding me that I subconsciously left out the part where I left the flat because of Johns date.

“He’s. On a date. With a woman. And he looks bloody fantastic. I couldn’t stay in the flat. That’s why I came here. I had originally planned on just dissecting some body parts but my nosey know-it-all brother kidnapped me and convinced me to seek out your help. Apparently I am bad at being a romantic.” I answer bitterly. Hating the feeling of loosing John, to admitting my brother was right, talking about my feelings, and the look Molly is giving me, complete sadness and pity.

“Well. That just won’t do now will it? Where is his date?” Molly asks, a mischievous grin playing across her lips.

I think a bit, trying to deduce John’s location. Generally he takes his dates to a movie and then dinner. Depending on the date and how much he likes her will determine the dinner location. John was acting more nervous than typically before his date, it has been a while since he has gone out, and he seemed rather love struck by this new girl. Its been well over the amount of time a movie would take at the theater. And with John trying to make a good impression, that leaves Angelo’s. “At this time, he is most likely at Angelo’s.” I answer quickly, curious as to Molly’s plan.

“Well, I’d say you should drop them a visit. You need to stop that date. I don’t really know how, but you’re the genius.” Molly tells me, sounding like this is the most normal thing in the world. 

“Won’t John get mad at me? He doesn't like me interrupting his dates.” I say, knowing this little fact all too well. 

“Well then. Make this an undercover case. Don’t let John know it’s you.” 

Molly’s words bounce around my head at a hundred miles an hour. Don’t let John know its me? Why haven’t I thought of that? It’s absolutely brilliant! 

I practically jump out of my chair and run to the door, my coat swirling dramatically behind me. I stop short at the door, turning to see Molly smiling sadly after me. I give her my best smile, “Thank you, Molly.” and I’m out the door.

I rush out into the streets, hailing a cab. Once in, I give the driver the address to Angelo’s, then sit back and allow my plan to fully develop before I make it into the restaurant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More chapters coming soon! I love feedback so let me know what you think in the comments! :) Thank you!


	5. Chapter 5

I walk inside Angelo's and spot John and his date right away in the back corner, giving them the most privacy. They are still looking at their menus, discussing what meals they want. I already know John is going to order the chicken Alfredo. It is generally his go-to on dates, and seeing as I haven’t taken John here in a while he’s going to want to order a favorite.

“Table for one sir?” one of the waiters asks me, a fake smile plastered on his face. His shift isn’t anywhere near over, but he is exhausted, needing a break but has to put on an act.

“I would like to sit there.” I point to a table with four seats across from John’s back. He would need to turn completely around to see me, which is highly unlikely seeing as the loo is directly in front of him, and I will be up against the opposing wall.

“Will you have a larger party following you? I’m afraid I can only give you that seat if others are with you.” The waiter attempts to tell me politely, but I can hear the slightest edginess to his voice.

“Yes, they will be here shortly.” I say, still looking over at John, watching his expression change as he talks with the woman sitting in front of him.

“Ok, right this way sir.” I follow the waiter, still watching John with my peripheral vision.

“Could you tell Angelo and old friend from prison is here to see him, he’ll know who I am. Just tell him that exactly.” I tell the waiter, knowing Angelo will understand my code, telling him I’m here and need to ask a favor for him undercover. It’s come in handy on multiple occasions.

“Certainly sir, I’ll do that right away.” The waiter says, leaving me a menu and hustling back to the kitchen.

I watch another waiter walk over to John and his date and politely take their orders. John seems to be doing well on his date. Conversation is flowing easy, she has laughed seven times since I have entered the restaurant, John four. This abomination must end soon. This woman clearly isn’t good enough for my John. She is clearly a struggling alcoholic with two children whom she has lost custody of, and a medium sized dog who she only has for the kids, and never takes real care of it. She has the kind of subtle beauty that John appreciates, but has only achieved that with about five pounds of “natural looking” makeup. Her hair has been died three times in the past month, and she has a boyfriend, father of both children, who just split up with her (again), whom of which she has been dating on and off for about six years. Clearly John in all his excellence deserves much better. 

“May I help you sir?” Angelo says discreetly, approaching me like he has many times while I’m on a case.

“Ah, Angelo. You can call me Sherlock today, but please keep it quite. John mustn't hear or see us.” I say, pointing in John’s direction.

“Oh. He seems to be on a date. Are you spying?” Angelo asks with a curious smile.

“Yes, John is on a date, but this woman is not worthy of John’s time, and therefore a hindrance to me. I need this date to end badly, that way John won’t call her for a second date. This is important, can you help me?” I explain, still watching John and the woman with disgust.

“Oh! Of course! This must be fixed, I can do whatever you please.” Angelo tells me, completely loyal. 

“Can you get a waiter to spill something on the girl? Get her embarrassed first, then anything else we do will be amplified.” I say, giving Angelo a devilish smile.

“Of course! Brilliant! I’ll get our hostess to spill. Their drinks should be on their way soon.” And with that Angelo hurry’s off to find his hostess to tell them her the change in plans.

I sit patiently, waiting for John and his dates drinks to come. It takes a touch longer than it should, but John would never notice. But soon enough, a young girl with long brunette hair comes by with both drinks, setting down John’s first. But once she turns to give the woman hers, she trips slightly, spilling the red wine all over her blouse and skirt. I hold in a chuckle as I watch the, actually fairly decent, hostess act out the accident. It’s very convincible, and she even uses her excuse to be flustered to hesitate to help mop up the spill, giving valuable seconds to letting the red wine stain sit in. The hostess heads off to get another drink, while John assures her its fine, even though her blouse is now see through, and there is a very visible stain starting to appear. 

Once the scene cools down a bit, Angelo comes back over to discuss our next plan of action. “Sherlock, all went well, yes?”

“Ah! Yes, your hostess was a great actress. That was brilliant. Now, John’s date had a large soda almost to herself at the theater,” John, always the gentleman, takes little of the snacks during the date, “and is just starting to feel as if she needs to use the loo. Can you close off the women's restroom until after the date? Should wrap things up early at least.”

“Brilliant! I will have the restrooms cleaned early tonight, don’t you worry.” And with that, Angelo was running off to the kitchen once again, and about a minute later, a young man was headed to the women's restroom with a keep out sign and a bucket of supplies.

When Angelo comes back this time, he is holding a plate of pasta and a glass of wine. “To help you look like a customer. You’re good at not looking like a spy, but you’re at a restaurant, you need to look like you’re eating something as well.”

I give a sound of approval, and take a sip of the wine, and deciding its not half bad. “Now, she’s a struggling alcoholic. John has had enough of that with his sister, he won’t want a girlfriend like that too. Is there someway we can show that through a little bit?”

“Ah, we can be sure to mention all the wines and beers. Offer to bring out a bottle. See how well she can control herself?” Angelo suggests.

“No, no. We don’t want them both getting drunk. It’s been too long since John has had sex, if we get them intoxicated and they have intercourse, John will be with her for at least two more dates to try to prove something.” I deduce out loud, wondering how to show this without it being bad for John. But, while I’m thinking, I see the woman already calling out to another waiter, asking to refill her wine glass. “Oh. Well maybe she’ll just do it on her own. Be sure to ask her every time her glass is less than half full if she would be interested in more wine. Keep the topic of alcohol on her, let John decide on his own if he wants more.” I tell Angelo quickly, loving how well this is going so far.

“Alright. Anything else at the moment?” 

“No, send out a different waiter in ten minutes. No need attracting more attention to ourselves. I will tell your waiter if I need you then. Thank you Angelo.”  
I mindlessly play with my pasta, not bothering to eat any, but sip at my wine. Noting that John’s date goes through her glass quite quickly. She continues to fiddle with her shirt, so that is still bothering her, and she has shifted positions four times in the last two minutes, indicating she has to use the loo. I even get the satisfaction of her pointing out the women's restroom to John in an angry huff. She is already uncomfortable and they haven’t even gotten their food yet.

I was staring, perhaps slightly too obvious, but I could tell from across the room that John’s date was at least tipsy, trying to think of a big bang to end this date. Wondering how to make John embarrassed enough to not want to call her back. When suddenly, it hit me. It was so obvious, why hadn’t I thought of this on the cab ride here? 

Two antagonizing minutes later, after squirming with anticipation in my seat, my first waiter came around asking, “Do you require anything else sir?”

“Yes, go send Angelo right away. Tell him I need him now.” And shoo him away.

Angelo soon came over, wide smile covering half his face. “I was told you we’re rude, and it sounded urgent. I’m hoping that means another brilliant plan?” 

“Yes. I need your best pick-pocket-er. John keeps his wallet in his jacket pocket, left side. Bring that to me. If John thinks he’s left his wallet at home and has to make his date pay for dinner, he will never be able to look at her again. That will be the final straw.” I tell Angelo, with a devious smile. Knowing John’s date paid for the movie. Movies are cheaper, and this way it looks more fair on both sides of the date.

“Oh, that is a good one sir. Marco is most certainly our best pick-pocket-er. This will be simple, give him two minutes, and you will have the wallet.” Angelo tells me confidently.

Sure enough, a minute later a man casually walks by John, I watch him slyly take John’s wallet out of his jacket while it’s draped over the back of the chair. He was rather good at it, and John didn’t even flinch. Good sign. The waiter puts the wallet in his pocket, asks another table if they are doing alright, then heads back into the kitchen. I smile triumphantly, knowing this will be the icing on the cake.

Angelo, comes over, absolutely beaming. “Here you are Sherlock! This will surely create havoc for Dr. Watson! 

“Yes! Now, I need to leave. I have to be home before John, and he can’t see me if he leaves. Remember, keep the women's restroom closed, and keep alcohol only focused on John’s date, not him. That should be enough. I can’t do too much or John will suspect more than just a bit of bad luck.”

“Brilliant, Sherlock! I will see you soon! I hope this ends well!”

And then, I rush out the front door, not looking back to John, leaving my empty wine glass, and pasta, not even touched. Rushing out the door, and hailing a cab back to 221B.

I allow myself to breath a sigh of relief once I’m safely in the cab. I grab John’s wallet out of my pocket, looking through it quickly. It contains just enough cash for dinner and a tip, as well as his debit card. John, always the man with a plan. I smile at my own dirty little trick, satisfied knowing John will never know, and happy that there is a 97% chance John will not call her back for a second date, and on the off chance he uses that 3% and does call, there is a 84% chance she will say no or make up some excuse.

Thankfully there was little traffic, and I’m quickly back to the flat. I figure I have less than 20 minutes before John is home, seeing how awful this date has gone. I quickly go upstairs and leave John’s wallet on his nightstand, looking as though he forgot to grab it on his way out. Then head downstairs to make myself a cup of tea before John gets back. 

And sure enough, 18 minutes later, sitting in my chair, cup in hand, John opens the front door, and tiredly walks up the stairs. 

“How was your date?” I call out to John, doing my best to keep any smugness out of my voice, once he reaches the landing.

In response, John stares at me slightly confused, looking utterly defeated. “Didn’t expect you home.” John says bitterly. Then turns around and marched up to his room. 

I feel kind of bad really. Poor John just wanted a nice evening out with a nice girl. But, I need John to fall for me, and she wasn’t a nice girl. Not nice enough for my John anyway.

I continue sipping away at my tea, thinking over tonight's events, replaying essential data over again, keeping my mind occupied. When suddenly I hear John stomping down the steps. I find that odd, I figured he was out for the night. It was a disappointing night, why would he want to spend the rest of the evening watching bad telly with me?

I quickly get my answer though. John, wallet in hand, starts off quite calmly. “You know, the movie was fantastic. We really hit it off before it played. We held hands like a couple of teenagers through the first half. I fed her popcorn, she giggled. We both enjoyed the movie. On the cab ride to Angelo's we had plenty to talk about.” John tells me, pausing to let his words sink in. To let me know this is important and I better damn well be paying attention. 

“After we sat down,” John continues, “things were still going great. We we’re still laughing, telling jokes. But then, we got our drinks. Didn’t we Sherlock? I got mine, just fine. But hers? It ended up all over her shirt. How typical right? Bit of bad luck. She brushed it off though, didn’t she? Was willing to let it go because things had gone well up to that point.” He says,starting to raise his voice. I could hear the implied acquisition flowing out.

“An idiot could spot a mile away that she had to use the loo. Isn’t that right?” John tells me rhetorically, and I wouldn’t dare answer anyway. This was captain Watson talking to me. And I know to never piss him off. “But, a genius, now he would close the restroom, make it so she couldn’t use the toilet. How convenient, the restrooms closed for cleaning at that exact instant? Bit of bad luck I would say, wouldn’t you?” Again, rhetorical.

“Oh, but that couldn’t be the end of it, right? Because now, we we’re both under stress and embarrassed about the turn of events, so who does she turn to? The wine of course. Why not? I hadn’t known she had an alcohol problem, but she sure as hell knew how to throw down that wine. Not enough to get drunk obviously, but she had more than necessary, right Sherlock?” John practically spits my name, his voice still louder yet. I could feel the amount of hurt and disgust radiating off every word, hitting me right in the chest. 

“And, to top it all off, the date had to end so badly that I would be much too embarrassed to even think about calling her back. Am I right? So, of course, I forgot my wallet. Didn’t I? Because that's the worst thing I could do on a date. Say I will pay, and then have no money. Right, Sherlock? Because you know I would never allow my date to pay. Never stoop so low.” John tells me, boring a hole right through my skull. Giving me a death glare that could kill a mile away.

“So, Sherlock. I was willing to call this bad luck. To say that it was my fault, that this happened because it just wasn’t my day. I was ready to come home. Strip down to just my pants, and head off to bed early. Just get this day over with already. But. You. Guessed. Wrong.”

John’s last words hang in the air. Giving off a heavy dread. Both of us staring at one another, never breaking eye contact. Unanswered questions dangling between us. Who was going to ask first? Why has my heart all of a sudden started racing? How do I stop this? Stop this madness, finish my tea, and get John to bed without him being angry with me?

Finally, after two and a half silent minutes, I’m the first to break. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, John.” I say calmly. My voice not giving away anything.

“Bullshit. That’s a complete lie, Sherlock. You know it. I know it. Don’t even deny it.” John yell’s back, much louder than necessary. That shocks me right back to life, showing me how real his anger really is.

“If you’re so insistent. What did I guess wrong?” I ask, adding some edge to my voice as well. John doesn't have to be the only angry one here.

“I leave my wallet on my dresser.” John tells me. His voice, flat, unwavering, completely straightforward.

My eyes go wide in shock. I know I’m caught. How could I make such a stupid mistake? I can’t even bring the correct words to my mouth. 

“I should have guessed once I got here. Why would you even be home? Whenever you tell me you’re going out you’re usually gone for at least twelve hours. Why, then, would you possible be home before I even got finished with my date? Unless you followed me on my date, sabotaging it. Making it so I’m guaranteed not to have another one. So, has it always been you? Is every bad date been you? Every time I don’t get a second date has it been your fault? Why Sherlock? Why would you betray me like this?” I see the obvious hurt in John’s eyes. The lack of understanding, the wanting to know more. He’s more than a little confused, and needs answers from me.

“John. All I did was go to Bart's to ask Molly for body parts. Nothing interesting was in. I just called it a loss and came back here. I’m sorry your date didn’t go well, but its rather childish of you to blame your bad luck on me. I haven’t a clue why your wallet was on your night stand, maybe nerves caused you to misplace your wallet, and you left it in a different place, and you just assumed it was in your pocket.” I tell John angrily. Defending myself, telling lies to cover up my one big mistake.

John just stares back at me, a look of utter bewilderment plastered on his beautiful face. “You know what? Sod this. You don’t want to tell me why you ruined my date? Fine. I don’t need to know. I’m not stupid, I know it was you, no need proving what I know as true. I’m going to bed. You can just Fuck. Off.” John spits the last two words at me, leaving the living room in a huff to head up to bed. 

I lean back in my chair. Setting my tea mug on the ground, wanting to forget about the suddenly offending substance. I close my eyes and gently rub my temples, wishing away that last fight.

“Yoo hoo.” I hear Mrs. Hudson, shyly asking to come in.

“Not now Mrs. Hudson.” I say back, my voice strained.

“You two have a little domestic?” She asks, sounding genuinely concerned. How hateful.

“No, now leave me alone.” I say, finally opening my eyes to give her my best glare.

“Oh, that bad was it?” She asks, a smile playing at her lips. Why was she smiling?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, bad ending I know! But I love this chapter, and I'm so excited for where this is going! Stick with it! It will be great! More chapters soon, I promise! Leave comments to let me know what you think! I love feed back!


	6. Chapter 6

This sheet is to itchy. The sun is leaking through the closed curtains and seems to somehow be in my eyes no matter what position I’m in. The couch isn’t comfortable enough. The room is too hot, and I’m already not wearing any pants under my sheet. I haven’t eaten in close to twenty four hours, and my stomach is complaining, but it can sod off. 

I feel the giant hole eating away at my heart, leaving nothing behind. My whole body aches as if somehow a broken heart has the way to do that. My head is pounding, my eyes are constantly fighting back tears. I’m ready to tear out somebody's throat. But at the same time, I just want to be left alone. To wallow in my own sadness. 

Why didn’t anybody tell me feelings we’re bad too? Is this why caring isn’t an advantage? Will this always happen? Love seemed to be so promising when my stomach was doing flip-flops just for John’s smile, or when my heart would race when John and I brushed fingers when he gave me tea. Love seemed to be so ideal when looking at John’s plush lips, so kissable, or looking at the way John’s nose crinkles when he got upset. Love seemed to be so easy when John laughed with me, or when he was willing to risk his life for mine, and vice versa.

So, why then, do I feel like a pile of shit? Was it because I did something wrong? Was I not supposed to fight for John? 

Feelings are so difficult. How do people live like this?

I hear the soft pitter patter of John’s feet stepping down the stairs and retreating into the bathroom. I over-dramatically flop over to my other side on the couch, facing the coffee table so I can reach my phone to check the time. Its 7:30 am. John must be getting ready for work. I wonder what awful things he has to say to me this morning. He did tell me to fuck off last night. Maybe I’m not welcome here anymore. Should I go to my room? Should I pack my things and leave? I can’t do that, where else would I go? 

I’m on the verge of having a panic attack when I hear John enter the room and stop. I cautiously lift my head to look at John. Is he going to yell?

“Um. Sherlock?” John says, his voice wavering over my name.

“Yes John?” I ask, with the same hesitations interlaced in my words.

“About last night. I shouldn’t have said some of the things that I said. It was rude and out of line. Even if you did sabotaged my date, which you were right last night, I didn’t have enough evidence to accuse you like that.”

I look at John, wide eyed and surprised. He. Apologized? He didn’t yell at me? John stands awkwardly at the door, looking at me with his best puppy dog eyes. My stomach flip-flops again, and I take that as a good sign. I like the feeling. 

“I know it’s not really my business. I trust your judgment, but was it you who ruined my date?” John asks, taking a few steps into the room. I sit up immediately, my heart racing. How do I answer? Whats the right answer? “Sorry! You don’t have to answer that. I was just curious. It’s alright if it was you, I guess.” John tells me, trying to comfort me a bit. Is this one of those situations where the truth is better than lying, even though the truth is wrong too?

“I- yes.” I say, surprising myself. “I did ruin your date. I’m sorry. And I was wrong, I keep my wallet on my night stand, I didn’t think of you any different.” I tell John, completely honest. And it actually feels good. John hasn’t gone red, and seems fairly calm.

“Can I ask why?” John says as he goes to sit in his chair.

“I. I can’t tell you John, sorry.” This time I have to look away, I know I feel pink creeping onto my cheeks. Why can’t I tell John? I want him to know I love him. But The feeling of John’s rejection is still so fresh. What if I tell him, and he tells me to fuck off again? Would I really have to leave then?

“That's. Fine.” John tells me. But not entirely convincingly. “I guess my bigger question is what's been up with you lately? I know you’re not one to talk about yourself and your feelings or whatever. But you’ve been acting strange since, well since that bloody concussion.”

I look at John. He’s waiting patiently, eyes on mine. His facial features relaxed. So John has noticed my actions? But has he noticed my feelings? I feel a sudden rush of nerves, my heart racing. “I,” I start, hesitantly. Do I tell him? “don’t know what you mean.” I finish. Not so convincingly.

“Oh.” John says, looking thoughtful. “Well, I don’t know. I guess it seems like you’ve suddenly realized I live in this flat too.”

“John I’ve I always known you’ve lived in this flat.” I tell him matter-of-factly, rolling my eyes at John’s childish deduction.

“I just mean usually I’m close to last on your list of ‘things that entertain Sherlock’, but this last week, it seems I’ve been bumped up a bit.” The smile John gives me just about breaks me. It’s small and shy. Like he likes the idea of being bumped up on my list. How do I even respond? He’s bumped up to number one, can’t he see that? Do I really have to tell him? I figure I stare at him for too long, keeping the silence hanging between us until its awkward. Making John check the time. “Well. Whatever it is, I still need toast and tea. Long day at the surgery today. We can. Talk later I guess.” 

John gets up to make breakfast. Going a bit faster than usual, making up time for our little chat. I lay back down on the couch, looking at the ceiling. I barely register John grabbing his coat and heading down the stairs to go to work. I probably would have stayed in this position all day if my bloody phone had stayed quite. But sure enough, I hear the appalling chirp indicating I’ve gotten a text. Hopefully its from Lestrade. But who knows. 

I grumpily get up and retrieve my phone but immediately regret it. It’s from my no good brother.

 

‘Seems I didn’t give enough credit to your little army doctor. MH’

 

I roll my eyes. Why does Mycroft insist on bugging me? And why is he even texting me, wouldn’t he rather call? I decide to just ignore it. It’s not like he asked for a reply. But as soon as I sit down, another chirp goes off.

 

‘You had the perfect opportunity. Why didn’t you tell him? Is my little brother scared? MH’

 

Infuriated by my brothers half ass attempt at an insult I start to franticly type back a response, but then decide against it. What better way to make my brother mad then to just ignore him? Especially since he hates texting. 

I set my phone back down without sending a response, knowing Mycroft is watching me. I can’t help but give a smug smile to no one in particular. And thats when I get the next text.

 

‘You know how I despise texting. Asking others for help has proven useful. A little late, but useful. Try texting your D.I. For help. MH’

 

Damn my brother. That actually may be a good idea. Molly, young and ready to do anything for love, was perfect to help me get John free. But now that I almost have John (or at least I hope I almost have him) I need help from someone with a bit more experience. Sure, Lestrade has had a bit of bad luck marriage wise. But he can help me learn from his mistakes. Right?

I decide to give it a shot either way and send Lestrade a text. Simple. Not too informative.

 

‘I need some romantic advice. SH’

 

I feel a quick wave of nerves come over me. Will Lestrade just call me a freak. Say I’m too far gone for love? I quickly get a response.

 

‘What kind of romantic advice?’

 

‘I’m trying to woo someone. Make them think of our relationship more romantically. SH’

 

“Ah. Is this for a case or are you actually coming to terms with your crush on John?’

 

Crush. On John? I already knew half of Scotland Yard thought John and I were dating. But Lestrade could see my feelings? I guess I didn’t give him enough credit.

 

‘Don’t make me sound so childish, it’s not a crush. Will you help me or not? SH’

 

‘Of course I’ll help you git. How far are you would you say you are?’

 

How far am I? What does that even mean? How far I am romantically? With John?

 

‘How far romantically with John you mean? Exactly where I started. Still flatmates and friends. SH’

 

‘I’m assuming you’re to scared to tell him how you feel?’

 

‘He’s ‘not gay’, remember? I don’t want to scare him off by telling him to soon. SH’

 

‘John seems like a simple enough guy. Try complimenting him. Let him know you are noticing him.’

 

‘How do I do that? SH’

 

‘If he looks nice, tell him. If he says something particularly smart, tell him. Be nice to him. Try flirting?’

 

That seems like easy enough advice. Was it too easy though? Maybe, but it was worth a shot. My feelings have gone through the ringer, I’m just about willing to try anything now. If anything, maybe John will catch the hint and then he can tell me if he is interested or not. 

That means another long day at home. I have a few mold samples in the fridge to check today, I could check my inbox, but people are so half-witted I’ll surely lose I.Q. points reading their messages. 

I decide the best thing to do is to simply get dressed. A quick glance at my phone tells me I have seven hours until John is home.

After getting dressed, I keep myself busy doing mundane things. Mostly to keep my mind active. I solve three cases in my inbox without leaving the flat. I delete 12 messages about cases not even worth my time. I check up on one of my ongoing mildew experiments in the bathroom. John hasn’t found this one yet, so its one of my longer running experiments. The day seemed a tad faster than I had anticipated. It was still tedious, but five o’clock came around eventually. 

I was on the couch on John’s laptop going over my inbox once more. Looking for a level 7+ case that John and I could work on, for the second time today, with no such luck. John came through the door, and he didn’t sound too tired. His day must have been alright. Not to hard, that was good. Flirting had a better chance of working then, John wouldn’t be easily irritated.  
I looked up as John came through the door. “Hey Sherl- are you using my laptop again?” John asked. Not necessarily mad, but frustrated.

“Yes. Mine was dead, how could I use a dead laptop, John?”

“You put it on the bloody charger! Its right there!” John tells me, pointing over towards the desk.

“But I can’t use it while its plugged in. Cords are obnoxious.” I tell John matter-of-factly. Shouldn’t he know this?

John just sighs. Knowing this will always happen. “Whatever Sherlock. I had a decent day, I don’t need this to bring me down.” 

“Oh?” I say sweetly. Trying out a mildly seductive tone. My flirting might as well start now. “Anything interesting happen?” I ask, shutting the laptop and pushing it away. All my attention on John.

“Well.” John says, looking strangly at me and the laptop. “Not really no. I guess it was just pretty easy. It was mostly just children with colds and a few check ups. Nothing too difficult.” John tells me, flopping down onto the couch next to me. But there is still too much space between us.

“That's good.” I tell John with a smile, scooting just an inch closer. Nothing to alarm him. “I like your hair like that.” I say, admiring his dusty blonde hair.

“My hair? John asks, running his fingers through it.

“Yeah, its messed up just right. It’s rather adorable.”

“Adorable? That's not a word I’ve heard you say before.” I don’t think he can decide whether he wants to laugh at or question my choice of words.

“There are lots of things I would describe as ‘adorable’, most of them having to do with you.” I say, smiling seductively. However, John must take it the wrong way. He takes a moment to look at me, and I mean really look at me. Similarly to how I would observe a crime scene.

“Yeah.”John responds, drawing out the last syllable. “Alright. Do you remember the conversation we had this morning?” 

“Of course I do.” I refrain from calling him an idiot. I mean, It was just hours ago, why would I forget something so close to now, unless I had reason to delete it? Not that I could delete it. It has to do with John, and currently my mind is mostly made up of John.  
“Right. This is sort of what I meant. Before this week, I don’t really remember a time where you would sit down with me and chat about work. Or call me adorable, I don’t know where that even came from.” 

I look at John. This is definitely it. He knows now. Its obvious, isn’t it? John is putting the clues together. “Yes, John. You’re right. You have been very observant, I must give you credit.” I say, not quite able to hide a proud smile.

“Oh. Thanks. I guess. But why? Why are you suddenly giving me all this attention?”

Really John? I want to yell. Isn’t it obvious yet? You’re right there! “I-it’s not something I can tell you John. If you work it out I can tell you.” I have to look away. Why can’t I tell him? Because my heart can’t take it, and I know it. So why can’t he see?

“Sherlock, I’m not like you. I don’t see connections, especially with the most secretive man I know. If you can give me hints why can’t you just tell me?” I can practically see the frustration radiating off of John. A part of me wonders if he has connected the dots, but doesn’t know if he can believe it, for whatever reason. Maybe he doesn’t think I’m capable of love, or maybe he doesn't think I’m gay. Or he could even think I’m still under the idea of ‘being married to my work’. But whatever it is, I wish he could just connect the dots already.

“It’s not that simple.” I tell him, still not looking at him. 

“Well, fine. Maybe I just need some time to think.” John huffs at me in frustration. Standing up abruptly. “I’ll go to my room for some quiet, or until you get off this power trip and decide to tell me your feelings like everyone else.” And with that he storms away.

That didn't go as planned. I flirted and complimented. John got some sort of hint. But didn’t put the pieces together. Maybe with his time alone he will get it? I don’t know. But I’m still exactly where I started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long! I really wasn't liking this chapter for a while, and I didn't know what I wanted to do with it. But I think I know what I want from our boys now! I'm excited for this next chapter so it shouldn't take as long.


	7. Chapter 7

After John had left to go up to his room, it didn’t take long for Mrs. Hudson to come up. I sighed. Not really in the mood for her usual peppiness.

“Oh Sherlock. Are you bored? I made a few too many chocolate biscuits, I thought maybe you would like some.” Mrs. Hudson tells me, setting a plate of biscuits on the coffee table. 

Replying is boring. I settle for making some sort of approving noise and flopping the other way on couch.

“Sherlock, is something wrong dear?” She asks. Does she really feel now is the time to chit chat? “You seemed to be in a decent mood today. Did something happen between you and John?” 

“Nothing Mrs. Hudson.” I respond, irritation clearly in my voice.

“Oh, I know that tone of voice. You can tell me. It’s not good to keep it bottled up you know. Whatever it is that's bothering you” She tells me sweetly, sitting down near my feet at the end of the couch. So obviously she doesn’t plan on leaving. Dull. Could Mrs. Hudson even help me? She’s so old, what does she know about love?

“You can’t help. It’s hopeless at this point anyways. I should just give up.” I tell her, surprised by the amount of truth I have behind my words.

“Oh nonsense. I’ve been around long enough I’m sure I can help you come up with a solution to your problem.” Mrs. Hudson tells me, patting my ankle affectionately.

“It’s about love. You’re too old for anything so senseless.” I spit, momentarily wishing I was back to being above my feelings of love.

Mrs. Hudson only laughed. It was actually a rather hideous sound. “Oh Sherlock, I’ve dealt with love multiple times over. And I’m not that old, you know. What seems to be your problem? Did you and John have another domestic?” 

“Yes. I-I mean no. We aren’t together.” I stutter back. My brain responding before I’ve even fully decided if I wanted to respond truthfully. But I guess it’s too late now, might as well see what sort of advice I can get. “John and I aren’t a couple. But I have recently discovered that I do have romantic feelings for John. But I haven’t been successful in aiding John in reciprocating those feelings.” 

“Did John tell you he doesn’t feel the same way?” Mrs. Hudson asks thoughtfully.

“Well, no. But he didn’t catch my hinting towards him.” I respond in a huff. Frustrated at telling my pathetic story once again. How many people do I have to tell my problems to before this actually pays off? Will it ever?

“What sort of hinting did you do?” Mrs. Hudson gets comfortable, ready for a story. Now she may never leave.

I sigh, and decide to start from the beginning. Telling her about my concussion and how I suddenly noticed I loved John. I told her about the date I had set up, how promising it was. How I followed almost every step on that stupid How-To guide, but in the end it didn’t do anything. I told her about my brother noticing my feelings, how he kidnapped me and then gave me the idea about asking for help. I told her how I messed up John’s date, and how John was mad, and how John may possibly be mad at me again thanks to Lestrade. 

“Oh Sherlock.” Mrs. Hudson says, with a sort of sickening sweetness to her voice. “I never knew you could care so much. Not for another person anyway. John is such a lucky man.” 

“He hasn’t shown any interest in me romantically. He obviously only sees us as platonic. So he’s the lucky man, and I’m the lonely friend, then?” I ask angrily. Upset more with the situation I have created for myself than anything else really.

“Sherlock, you’re lucky too. I know John has the same feelings for you, you just have been going at it the wrong way.”

“Yes, Mrs. Hudson, I can see that. That is why I have asked people for help.What other reason would I have to talk with you for this long?”

Mrs Hudson just chuckled in reply, giving me a warm smile. Does she think I’m joking? I make a disapproving sound and flop back down on the couch, facing away from her. 

“Sherlock, dear. Have you tried telling John how you feel?”

I whip my head back up, looking at her like she just ate the six index fingers I have stored under the kitchen sink. “Mrs. Hudson, I’ve done nothing all week but show John my feelings, why would you ask such an obvious question?”

She chuckles again, like what I said was some sort of joke. I really don’t understand what she finds so funny. “No dear. Have you told John flat out you love him? No hinting, or making him guess.”

“Tell John? What do you want, my heart to break, again, reducing me to a mass of tears and feelings? I already had John yell at me once, I don’t think I could handle full blown rejection.”

“Who told you John will reject you?” Mrs. Hudson asks.

“Nobody. But I can’t be certain that he will say yes.” I mumble back, cringing away. 

“If John told you he loves you back, wouldn’t all your worrying and hard work be worth it?” she asks me questioningly. 

“I guess. Feelings aren’t my area. I don’t know how John is going to respond.”

“Well then. You have to decide what you’re willing to give up for the chance John says yes.” Mrs. Hudson says, giving me a hopeful smile.

What am I willing to give up? I want to say I’m willing to give up anything. But I remember all to clearly how awful I felt when John found out about me sabotaging his date. How much it stung when he yelled and cursed at me. What if John gets angry because I love him? I mean, I doubt he would. But there is a possibility he would be uncomfortable with my feelings and move out. That would be a worse case scenario. Could I really chance that? “Well, Sherlock. I’ll leave you to think about that. I have dishes that need taking care of anyway. Good luck.” I barely hear Mrs. Hudson say as she gets up off the sofa and heads out. 

I stare at the wall in front of me for probably a half an hour. Debating with myself and going over every worse case scenario I could think of. I finally realized it all came down to one thing. I was scared. The idea of love, or loss of love in my case, was enough to frighten the great Sherlock Holmes. How could I live with myself knowing this was my downfall? Ordinary people do this sort of thing all the time. Not that I’m comparing myself to them. But I really had no other excuse. 

In the end, I stood up slowly and walked over to the hallway, stopping just at the bottom of the stairs. I hear some faint rustling, so I know John is up and about. I can do this, I can do this. I have that phrase on repeat as I take the first couple steps. Why is this so difficult? 

All too soon, I’m at the top of the stairs and at John’s door. I take a moment to focus on breathing. Trying desperately to maintain a semi-normal heart rate. And, before I can change my mind, I bring my hand to the door and give a hard knock.

I immediately wish I could take the action back. I suddenly hear nothing. John has paused. Contemplating opening the door. Once I hear him shuffling towards the door I release the breath I was unaware I was holding.

“Sherlock?” John says, confusion written on his face. “What are you doing here?”

“I, uhm.” I start, rather shakily. But then remember I’m here to prove this doesn’t scare me. I straighten up, and look into John’s soft and inviting eyes. “I’m ready to tell you.” I say with as much confidence I can muster.

“Ready to tell me why you’ve been acting so weird?” John asks, looking at me cautiously.

“Yes. But. This is difficult for me to say. I-I still don’t know if I can do it.” I tell John, my confidence failing me once again.

“It’s alright Sherlock. I’m surprised you even bothered coming all the way up here to be honest. It must be important.” He tells me, giving me my favorite smile. I can’t help but smile back.

“It is. Very important actually. The most important thing in the world. Or, at least, the most important thing in my world” I say, in complete seriousness. And I think John can see that.

“Then why is it so hard to say? Is it something bad?” 

“Well. I think its good. Very good. But, if you respond to what I have to say,how I’m afraid you will, then it will be very bad.” My stomach is in knots. It’s just a few simple words. I can do this.

“You didn’t ruin anymore furniture with another experiment, did you?” John asks, crossing his arms and giving me serious look.

“No, no. My experiments are all going exceptionally well at the moment, actually.”

“Alright. Then what’s this about?”

“Its about you, John.” I say, frustrated. 

“About me? What about me? Have I done something wrong?” John asks me, scrunching his face up in that adorable way he does when he gets confused.

“You’ve done everything right. So right. You are fantastic. Can’t you see that?” I ask, taking a small step towards John, opening my heart to the possibility of hearing a yes. “John.” I practically whisper. I close my eyes. This is hard. Very hard. The hardest thing I’ve ever done.

I feel Johns hand on my shoulder. I open my eyes to find Johns. I can see that he’s finally caught my hint. His eyes are full of surprise, and happiness. “You can tell me.” John whispers back, sliding his hand down my arm until it reaches mine. He interlaces our fingers and takes a step closer to me. Now we are only inches apart.

“John. I love you.” My voice trembles, but its out. I feel a huge weight off my shoulders.

John smiles, and takes another step closer, hes right under me and looking up. “I know. And I love you too.” And then, John startles me. He snakes his hand up my torso, and around my neck, then brings my head down. Our lips meet, and I suddenly can’t feel my legs. It takes a second before I start kissing back, before I regain feeling in my legs. 

I initiate deepening the kiss. I ghost my tongue over John’s lips, to which he eagerly melts into, opening his mouth, and letting me explore to my hearts content. John’s hand moves from on my neck to tangled in my hair. And the hand holding mine, lets go, only to be placed on my waist so I can be brought closer. I let both my hands rest on John’s waist, holding him close. 

After countless minutes of John allowing me to map out his mouth, he grows impatient, and our lazy kisses, become needy and hot. John fights me for dominance. Pulling me closer to him, which I would have assumed was impossible, but somehow our bodies mold onto one another, like we were meant to stand together like that. 

I lost count of time, but eventually we break apart, both of us breathing heavy and leaning on one another for support. 

“Fuck.” John says breathless. “That was-”

“I know.” I say, smiling. My voice coming out gravely.

“We. We’ll have to do that again. Soon.” John tells me. Neither of us able to get the smile’s off our faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, one more chapter after this. The next chapter will contain smut and fluff, so prepare yourselves!


	8. Chapter 8

I glance over at John, seeing the hint of a smile, making my heart flutter. I take the opportunity to cuddle closer and wrap my arm around John's torso as we watch some late night telly on the couch. It’s been a little over a month since I told John I loved him. Our relationship has been going well. Not much has changed these past four months and two days, other than the fact that John and I snog at just about every chance we get. 

I do love the snogging. John is wonderful at it, and I showed to be a fast learner. But, I’m starting to wonder how accepting John is of his new sexuality. How far he is willing to go. We haven’t made our relationship public, both of us agreeing that it will only cause havoc on our careers. But, tonight, I decide to test my boundaries. 

I start by ghosting my fingers on the hand already wrapped around Johns torso along the hem of Johns trousers, before letting my hand travel up his shirt and feeling the soft skin over Johns ribs. I rub my head into Johns neck and breath in the sweet smell of John. I lick the soft spot where Johns neck connects to his shoulder, to which John delightfully relaxes into. I nibble and kiss my way up Johns neck and over his jaw until I’m pecking feather light kisses on Johns lips.

I continue this until John decides enough is enough, and grabs the back of my head, and crushes our lips together. No lead up, just passion and lust. I quickly roll over John and position myself on his lap, never breaking the kiss, and pushing my fingers through his hair. The kiss is hard, but not quite to the point where its sloppy. Yet. We trade for dominance for a while, before I bring attention back to Johns neck, sucking right under his jaw bone, leaving a mark for later.

I grab Johns earlobe in my teeth, playing with it before finally speaking. I whisper, keeping my voice as low and seductive as possible, “Fuck me, John. I need you.”

John stops moving completely, frozen in place, trying desperately to process what I’ve just asked of him. I take the moment to continue kissing John all over. Peppering kisses, and running my fingers through his hair. “Please, John.” I ask innocently, taking my fingers from his hair and placing my palms on his shoulders. “I want this more than anything.”I say softly, looking John in the eyes, who is still frozen with confusion written clearly all over his face. “I’m not good at deducing feelings.” I say sweetly, starting to run my hands down Johns shoulders, “But, I think you want this too.” My hands are still traveling slowly towards Johns groin, but his hands gently grab mine once they get past his belly button.

“Y-you want this?” John finally asks, looking into my eyes.

“Yes John. I have just informed you of this, please keep up.” I say, trying to get my hands free from Johns grasp, but John only tightens his grip.

“I’m serious Sherlock.” John says, really looking at me. “We haven’t talked about sex. I-I didn’t even know you wanted to.”

“I’ve been thinking an awful lot about you. About you taking me.” I tell John, my voice already becoming rough with lust.

“Shit.” John curses under his breath. “I have too. I just didn’t want to push you. I don’t know anything about your sexual history.”

I roll my eyes a bit. “I don’t have a sexual history. Never felt the need to make one. I have researched many types of sex, but none of my knowledge is practical, only theoretical. However, I would very much love to put my knowledge to use with you. I know you have never been with a man, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable we-” John kisses me, a quick peck, just enough to shut me up.

“Ok. So this will me new for both of us. If this is really what you want, we could, um, take this to the bedroom?” John asks me, nervously looking for any sign of regret on my face.

“Yours or mine?” I ask brightly, not even bothering to hide the smile forming on my lips.   
“Uh, mine is fine. If its fine with you.”

I roll my eyes once again, John is rather annoying when he is nervous. Instead of answering I simply remove myself from Johns lap and hold a hand out to help John up, to which he quickly grabs.

We walk up to John's room without a word, still holding hands. I can feel Johns nerves. Is he worried about his sexuality? Of sex? Sex with me? 

When we make it through the door, I take my chance to make sure everything is out in the open. “John. Before we do anything. What exactly are you nervous about? Are you uncomfortable with me being a man?”

Johns face practically explodes with horror. “No! God no! I love you, Sherlock. I’m worried I’ll mess this up. I want us both to enjoy our first time, but we have rather a lot of lack of experience.”

Relief swells up in my chest. “We’ll be fine. We have time to learn and get better at this. But first, we have to do it.” I practically growl the last two words, growing impatient. I step closer to John and pull him in for another rough kiss, making him moan low and deep.

Quickly John catches on starts to unbutton my shirt in between us while still fighting me for dominance over the kiss. Once John pushes my shirt off and onto the floor, I give in, letting John take over as I reciprocate and pull Johns jumper over his head, breaking the kiss only momentarily.

Once bare chested, John leads us over to his bed, laying me down and crawling over me, straddling my hips. “Will you…? Uh, do you want to. Can you bottom first?” John stutters, blushing with embarrassment. It takes all my strength not to giggle at Johns embarrassment. So instead I kiss him quickly before I make a mistake.

“Yes, of course. I asked you to fuck me, remember?” I smile, running my hand over Johns back. Loving the smooth feel of skin under my fingertips.

John smiles in return and goes reaches over to his night stand, taking out a condom and half used bottle of lube. Setting both off to the side, he brings his attention back to me. Placing an open mouthed kiss on my collarbone before nipping and sucking. Enough to break blood vessels and leave a lovely bruise. I moan, knowing that John is marking me as his. Next, John grabs my right nipple, running it through his fingers, making it harden. Then takes my right nipple in his mouth, lightly biting and sucking at it. It surprises me how sensitive they are, how easily I react to the slightest touches from John. I let my head fall back and moan, creeping my hands to Johns arse, making sure to grab nice handfuls as I bring his body towards me. 

The action causes our clothed erections to slide nicely together, reminding us both of our ignored cocks. John grunts as he gets up slightly, just enough to start unbuttoning my trousers. “Lift.” John commands, his voice low. I immediately obey, and in one swift motion my trousers and pants are taken off. I help John with the last of his clothing as well, and finally, after what seems like forever, I’m holding John against my body. Both of us naked and able to enjoy the beauty and intimacy of the moment.

John hesitantly grinds down, creating a glorious feeling of friction, making us both involuntary groan.

“I need to fuck you.” John tells me frantically. “I’ve waited to damn long.”

John kisses me quickly before grabbing a pillow and the bottle of lube. “Here, put this under your hips. It’s supposed to help.” John tells me, helping me place the pillow. “Now, tell me if this hurts. It’s going to be uncomfortable at first. I’ll take my time.” John tells me, starting to sound nervous again.

“I trust you, John. Don’t worry so much.” I respond with a smile, and opening my legs, giving John full access. Showing him the trust I have.

John closes his eyes and moans once again at the sight of me opening up for him. “You’re so bloody gorgeous.” He tells me while generously applying lube to his fingers. John gives me one last look before lowering himself to my entrance. 

John starts off running his finger over my hole gently, massaging slightly, helping me to relax. Once he is satisfied, John pushes the tip of the first finger in, barely one knuckle deep. I gasp in surprise, the intrusion feeling odd, and almost unwelcoming. John takes the fingertip out then back in, pumping slowly. And soon enough I feel Johns second knuckle, and then the whole of his first finger. And slowly, the burn starts to dull as well. 

I finally feel rather comfortable, wiggling with anticipation. “J-John.” I stutter, sounding as debauched as I feel. “I’m ready for the next finger.”

John hums in agreement, and ever so slowly adds the next finger. I bite back a yelp as the pain returns, but even sooner than the last time it practically melts away from John’s touch. I can feel myself completely on edge. John meticulously stretching and opening me, he is sure to be slow, pumping his fingers in a smooth, easy rhythm. 

John spends what feels like and eternity on just two fingers, mumbling praise every time I yelp with a new pain, or moan in pleasure. “Do you think you can handle three fingers Sherlock?” John finally asks me, still rhythmically pumping and scissoring two fingers.

“Yes.” I practically hiss, tossing my head back and closing my eyes. John removes his two fingers, making me groan at the sudden loss of contact and friction, and adds more lube, “Just to be safe.” John explains with a smile. “I know it’s burning, I want this to be as easy as possible for you.”

I grunt in response, just about to give what I assume was a witty comeback, however the presence of three fingers turned off my brain completely. I start to relax, the easy glide of John’s fingers engrossing my every thought, when all of a sudden a flash of passion and pleasure surge through me. I’m left gasping for air, and only after regaining what little thought process I can, I hear John chuckle to himself and realize that must have been my prostate. 

“Somebody liked that.” John teased.

“I bloody well did, you’re going to send me over the edge before you ever get inside me.” I try to tell John harshly, but it just comes out as more of a whine.

John simply gives a kiss to my inner thigh, and continues his thorough stretching. After what feels like hours, but is probably closer to only a few minutes, I’m panting and groaning. More than ready for John.

“I-I’m ready John. I need you now.” I gasp, completely over the edge with lust. “Fuck me. Fuck me now.” I needily moan to John, giving emphasis to that last word.

“Ok love.” John whispers, kissing my inner thigh again. John takes his fingers out, creating an involuntary noise that escapes the back of my throat. 

I look up to see John tear the little condom packet and rolls it on. When John grabs the bottle of lube again, we meet eyes, and Johns cheeks blush slightly, making his already flushed skin positively glow.

In what feels like forever, yet all too fast, John is lubed and lining up. “I’m not going to hurt you.” John reassures, giving me a smile. “I’ll go slow.”

“Fine.” I huff in response. “But hurry!” I plea, need trickling into my voice.

John takes the hint and pushes forward. Right away I can feel John is larger that the three fingers he used to stretch me. But with the ridiculous amount of lube John has applied, it doesn’t make too much of a difference.

When I feel the whole of John in me for the first time, I have to grab a hold of his shoulders, “Th-this is…” I start, unable to finish my sentence.

“I know.” John exhales, taking the opportunity to kiss me messily, staying still to give us both some time to adjust.

After a while I finally have to break away from the kiss. “Move.” I hiss, opening my legs a bit more, giving John all the room he needs. 

Without questioning, John starts off at a slow pace, grinding his hips, trying to find a good angle. And before too long, we find a good rhythm and painting each others names. Both of us semi aware that neither of us are going to make our first time last. We’re to on edge and needy. Searching for release.

John takes my prick in his hand right as he finds my prostate, rutting into it relentlessly. Then, suddenly all I can see is white. My mouth babbling complete nonsense, and I vaguely feel John shutter inside me.

John slumps over top of me, our heavy breath mingling together. If we never moved I would be content with the world. But, of course, the semen between us becomes uncomfortable, and John needs to pull out. When he does, John ties off the condom to toss out, and grabs some tissues off the nightstand to clean us up. 

John is gentle, cleaning my belly, and his own. A pleased smile on his face as he takes his time. Once John is done, I pull him in for a hug, kissing the top of his head lightly. 

“That was amazing.” John says breathlessly, leaning his head on my shoulder and wrapping his leg over mine.

“You were amazing.” I whisper into Johns ear, which earns me a soft kiss on the lips.

“I can’t believe I just shagged the great Sherlock Holmes.” John teases, a dorky smile on his lips. “And for all those years you seemed so untouchable. You were the one who asked me to shag you.”

I roll my eyes. “I was not ‘untouchable’, I was just very selective. You are the only one who fits my needs for a lover.”

John chuckles, “I love you too.”

I start to respond, but John hums softly, giving me one last hug, before I know he is silently dozing off. I cuddle up closer to John slightly, smiling to myself in the dark. Happy with where life has taken me now. Once I hear John snoring quietly, I whisper, “I love you.” into Johns ear, then follow him into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long to write! But it's done now, and this is the final chapter. I hope you have enjoyed this fic as much as I have!

**Author's Note:**

> More chapters to come soon! Thank you for reading!
> 
> Not Beta'd and I would love to hear comment's and criticism's!
> 
> For the record, I am American and attempting to use British language, hopefully it isn't to awful, but if it is feel free to let me know!


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